THE ANGLERS SONG
As inward love breeds outward talk, The hound some praise, and some the hawk: Some, better pleased with private sport, Use tennis, some a mistress court: But these delights I neither wish, Nor envy, while I freely fish. Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride; Who hawks, lures oft both far and wide; Who uses game shall often prove A loser; But who falls in love Is fettered in fond Cupid's snare: My angle breeds me no such care. Of recreation there is none So free as fishing is alone; All other pastimes do no less Than mind and body both possesse: My hand alone my work can do, So I can fish and study to. I care not, I, to fish in seas; Fresh rivers best my mind do please, Whose sweet calm course I contemplate And seek in life to imitate: In civil bounds I fain would keep, And for my past ofences weep And when the timorous trout I wait, To take, and he devours my bait, How poor a thing sometimes I find Will captivate a greedy mind: And when none bite, I praise the wise, Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise. But yet though while I fish, I fast; I make good fortune my repast: And thereunto my friend invite, In whom I more than that delight: Who is more welcome to my dish Than to my angle was the fish, As well content no prize to take, As use of taken prize to make: For so our Lord was pleased when He fishers made fishers of men: Where (which is no other game) A man may fish and praise His name. The first men that our saviour dear Did chuse to wait upon him here, Blest fishers were, and fish the last Food was, that he on earth did taste I therefore strive to follow those, Whom he to follow him hath chose. Izzak Walton
